"Thanks, no; it is nothing. I shall be all right. So stupid of me!" And Mrs. Keith smiled. "I have had three or four such turns lately. I shall have to ask Dr. Wallace for a tonic; only I do so dislike the man. Well—" and she pressed her handkerchief to her lips—"now I am better. What were you saying, just before the faintness came on? Something about—how absurd of me to forget! My head is confused." "Only about that old painting in your cabinet. I thought it must be some relative, because of the likeness to Colin," She would not suggest Mrs. Keith's husband, though the idea had occurred. A wife would hardly bury her husband's portrait beneath a pile of old clothes. "Ah, to be sure—yes!—I remember. An old painting of my brother Jock—Colin's uncle. Not so old, of course, as it looks. The artist had a fancy to do it in that style. You are right about the dress. It was for theatricals. He was good at acting—very much in request. You found the silk?" Phyllys gave it, remarking, "I had not heard of your brother." "Really! But you would not. Jock has been so long in Australia, never coming home, that friends forget his existence." "Had you not better rest?" asked the girl, pitying her blanched lips. "It really is of no consequence. I am used to these turns, and I think nothing of them. One word, before any one comes. Phyllys, I am going to treat you as a friend." Phyllys waited, and Mrs. Keith's lips worked nervously. "That old portrait—no one except myself knows about it, and I 'particularly' wish that others should not know. There are reasons which I am not able to explain. It has—painful associations. The very sight of it makes me miserable for days." "But Colin—" the girl said. "Colin has no idea of its existence." "Of course I will say nothing." "That is what I was going to ask. If you had kept to my directions you would not have opened the wrong cabinet. Under the circumstances, I have a right to ask you never to mention the portrait. It would mean no end of talk and explanation—and pain to myself, which really I cannot stand. Will you give me your promise, on your word of honour?" It seemed to Phyllys a considerable fuss about nothing; but she readily made answer, "Yes, of course. I promise never to say a word to anybody about the painting unless you give me leave. I'm sorry I went to the wrong cabinet." "That does not matter, my dear. All I wish is to avoid tiresome and useless discussions. But I know I may depend upon you, and now we can dismiss the subject. I think I must have some sal volatile after all—I feel so queer still. Thanks, no—I had better go myself. It will do me good to move." She mounted the wide staircase, stepping languidly till within her own room. Then her manner changed. She bolted the door, and went to the left-hand cabinet, finding it as described by Phyllys. "How insane of me!" she muttered. She began to pile more clothes over the picture, but stopped.